Bravery
by Crookedhalo
Summary: Oneshot, the backstory detailing the origins of Earth 2's Huntress, Helena Wayne.


KABOOM!

Thunder shook the mansion as lightning ripped through the sky.

"Mommy!" a little girl called, sitting straight up in bed, tears stinging at her eyes.

"It's all right, darling, I'm here," her mother cooed as she appeared at the child's bedside, taking her into her arms and rocking her gently.

"Where's Daddy?" the Waynes' only daughter asked, still shaken by the thunder.

"Daddy's out. He'll be back soon," Mrs. Wayne, formerly known as Selina Kyle, among other aliases, cooed reassuringly.

"He's out in this? Isn't it dangerous?"

"Bravery is facing danger head-on, even when we're scared, Helena."

"Is Daddy scared?"

Selina smiled. "I'd imagine he is sometimes. He hides it well. But I can guarantee you that there's nothing out there that your Dad can't handle, and that we're all safer for it."

"Promise?" Helena asked, her lower lip quivering slightly.

"Promise," Selina repeated.

The night Selina Kyle-Wayne died wasn't stormy. In fact, it was clear, and even exceptionally warm for a late September evening in Gotham. Helena would always remember reveling in the warm air, forgoing her jacket as she walked through the streets with her new boss, but old family member, Dick Greyson, in search of an appropriate place to celebrate winning her first big case with a drink.

Later, she would think of just how unfair it was that the weather didn't reflect what was to come, gave no indication that the night would result in loss. Loss of everything that she had come to depend on and trust in.

Halfway through dinner, her cell phone rang.

"Miss Helena, you'll want to come home at your earliest convenience." Alfred Pennyworth's gentle voice shocked her. He had never called her while she was out, the aging butler always taking some matter of distance when it came to the Waynes and their excursions, be they social or... otherwise. Likewise, his usually warm, bordering on jovial tone was now... lacking. At the moment, she couldn't quite put her finger on what it was lacking, but something was very off.

Later, she would have no recollection of what she said next, or of anything, besides Dick's concerned tone as he asked her what it was. He must have followed her home, because her car was in the driveway when she woke up, but she sure as hell didn't remember driving that night.

The only clear image of the return home was her father, still in costume, mask removed, and leaning over her Mother, who was in the bed in the master bedroom. How pale and small she looked, sprawled there across the king-sized bed, any trace of color gone from her already alabaster skin, the lack of color more severe against the burnt orange of the duvet.

He had called in Dr. Whiting, the family doctor. He had been with the Waynes for years and was paid well enough to keep information to himself. The doctor, for his part, had put in a valiant effort and, in failing, had taken up post outside the room, awaiting further instructions as to what to do with the body.

Helena surveyed her mother's body, tears blurring her vision. Selina herself was in costume, though her leather cat suit was riddled with bullet holes and stained with red.

Blood, the sickening realization came to her a second later, squeezing at her heart as she felt herself gasping for breath. No one around seemed to notice the young Wayne's inability to breathe, however.

"Bruce," Dick said gently, attempting to put a hand on his mentor and adoptive father's shoulder. But Bruce merely pulled away.

Without a look for his two children, he turned and stalked out of the room, retreating to a sanctuary that would hold no solace at this moment.

"Helena," Dick said gently, stepping towards her. She allowed herself to be taken into his embrace, though she made no move to return it. In fact, she made no move at all, instead remaining rigid, eyes glued to the lifeless form on the bed.

She remembered thinking how brave her mother must have been. How she must have faced fear down, donning the costume that had been hung up for good years ago to stop some evil.

The weeks to come would hold shocking realizations about the true history of Catwoman, and the evil her Mother had been forced to assist that night.

"_You know about Catwoman?" _

_"Yes. She used to help Dad out sometimes."_

_"Sometimes. It's a bit more complicated than that. I'm not sure now's the time." _

_"**Now** is the time. My Mother's dead, Dick. There's nothing to be gained by glossing over the circumstances surrounding her death. Besides, I'm a big girl, I can handle whatever you can throw at me." _

The words rang in her head as her limbs sprang to life, launching her body across a space that separated two skyscrapers. Others might have looked down, might have had at least a moment's hesitation.

She had nothing to lose now. No one to urge her to look before she leaped.

No, she had only one goal in mind, and she wouldn't stop until she reached it. Even if it meant dying in the process.

Learning about her Mother's secret history as Catwoman had shocked her. A thief. A good one, but nothing more than a common thief.

Well, of course, there had been more. Dad had seen more. She had given up her ways and become more.

But apparently Selina Kyle's years of repentance hadn't been enough.

_"Just tell me what happened to her that night. You owe me that much. How many times did you hate him for keeping things from you? And now he's shut us both out, and you have a choice. You can go his way, or you can tell me why my Mother is dead."_

Her feet pounding the cement rooftop kept time with the heartbeats, speeding up as her heart did, the thumping echoing in her ears, almost draining out the words that seemed to have been on a continuous loop since the conversation after the funeral.

_"Have you ever heard of Silky Cernak?"_

Almost. But not quite.

_"No."_

_"He was an old henchman of your Mother's. They worked together on quite a few heists before her recognition. He didn't give it up when she did."_

She paused at the edge of a rooftop, reaching into her belt and retrieving a small spyglass, surveying the streets below. She checked her watch and then resumed her vigil.

Ten minutes late. She shivered involuntarily, not from the cold, but more from the anticipation of coming face to face with the man responsible for her Mother's death.

"_Are you saying Cernak is responsible for what happened?"_

_"From what I understand, yes. He was blackmailing her. Guess he wanted to do one last job. One big enough that he needed Catwoman."_

Her muscles tensed as a man in a grey pinstripe suit appeared, flanked by two beefy thugs in black suits.

Mentally, she calculated. She had been training all her life in martial arts, but had never fully given thought to the fact that she might one day use them in a situation such as this. She remembered vaguely that she had, at one point, envied Dick for being treated as a protégé to Batman. She had always known that her parents wouldn't allow her to enter this life, not by their knowledge.

Ironically, they had always trained her for just such a moment as this.

_"Blackmailing her with what?" _

_"False evidence." Dick sighed then. "She didn't want you or your Dad to know what she was going through."_

_"But he found out, didn't he?"_

_"Why else do you think he came out of his semi-retirement?"_

As the three men consulted and then disappeared through the door of the building, Helena reached into her built for a grapple hook. She hadn't had much time to prepare her weapons, but luckily she'd had an entire stockpile to borrow from, as she'd raided the Batcave. Her Dad hadn't noticed. He'd been spending quite a bit of his time in the study. She'd noticed that he'd been sleeping in a guest room since that night.

Not that she blamed him, but he could have given some consideration to his daughter instead of just shutting down entirely.

The only good side had, of course, been her ability to fashion a costume, compile her arsenal, and train under his nose. She had also been able to use the Batcave's computer systems to track down the bastard.

She pressed a button and held tightly as the hook planted itself in a fire escape a few floors up. One survey with the spyglass had revealed that the fire escape led to a deserted office. Or, the remains of one, anyway. The entire building appeared to be nothing short of condemned.

She yanked on the rope slightly to test it before pressing another button and leaping off the building as the rope contracted, pulling her towards the building at an alarming speed. She threw her legs out in front of her to brace herself, her feet smacking into the wall space just below the fire escape. She quickly shimmied up it and then retrieved one of her mother's old tools, cutting a hole in the glass, and then sticking her arm through it to unfasten the window. She climbed through quietly, freezing as she listened for any sign of activity.

She made her way to the door out to the hallway, senses still on alert as she crept through the building.

Finally, she heard voices. They were coming her way quickly. She took cover in a doorway, but it wouldn't hide her for long.

Of course, she wasn't planning to hide for very long. Quietly loading up two darts into a bat gun, she waited for the three to round the corner, firing quickly, and with expert aim, watching as the two bodyguards collapsed.

She stepped into view, revealing herself.

For his part, Silky eyed her carefully, his eyes widening in fear.

"Catwoman?" he asked in a shaky voice.

"Guess again," Helena stepped forward, slamming her fist into the side of his head, all her pent-up anger releasing itself in that one blow.

He fell to the ground, but swiped at her legs, causing her to lose her balance.

"That's right. Catwoman is dead, isn't she?" he leered, before turning and fleeing.

Helena snarled and jumped to her feet. But the time she had lost during her fall had given Silky a head start. She took off, following him up several flights of stairs. Finally, they reached the roof, the door banging shut in her face as he attempted to keep her from following him.

She kicked the door open, stepping out onto the roof, eyes searching for any sign of him.

From the corner of her eye, she spotted someone approaching. Instinctively, she ducked, his swing missing her as she buried her fist into his stomach. He grunted and stumbled backwards.

She straightened up and took a step towards him, lifting her leg to kick him squarely in the solar plexus, without allowing time for recovery.

And then another punch. And another. He kept backing up, but she followed him.

Finally, they reached the edge. She didn't realize-or perhaps she didn't care. In all her reflections on that night, she couldn't remember which.

The only thing she could remember was that, for the first time in weeks, the pain of her Mother's death had entirely disappeared. Everything had disappeared, in fact, save for the feeling of vengeance that was coursing through her veins.

It felt good, the absence of human emotion, as her body proved itself time and time again with each blow.

She pulled back, landing another punch to his face. Without warning, he fell backwards.

And suddenly the fog that she had been operating under her disappeared, things coming into sharp focus. Acting on instinct, she pulled out another gun, aiming at the falling figure. A rope with net at the end sprang forth, wrapping itself around the body as it collided with it. She felt a tug as Cernak was apprehended, staring at the figure now dangling just feet below her.

Her finger hovered over the release button as she stared. She stood there for what seemed like an eternity, his eyes locking with hers, wide in terror.

How fitting, she remembered thinking. Selina's death had occurred in a hail of gunfire. She hadn't had as far to fall, but she had fallen. If she were to release him, he would feel the rush of terror that she must have felt in her last moments.

If she were to release him, she would be free.

Wouldn't she?

No. She wouldn't. Killing him would just be another violent end to a life. A useless life, at that one.

But let him rot in jail. Death would grant him the peace of eternity, of an end to this life.

Her finger slowly moved to the other button, pressing it, and watching as the figure tangled up in the net retracted, making his way towards her.

In the moments before, killing him had seemed like the way to put an end to this. She had been able to escape her pain while she'd been hurting him. It had felt neither good nor bad, but just absent.

It had been an improvement on the last few weeks.

However, by allowing him to live, she was facing the unknown. Facing the fact that she was left behind, and that what lie before her was uncertain and painful. And terrifying.

_"Bravery is facing danger head-on, even when we're scared, Helena."_

Was it bravery that had spurred her to spare the man responsible for shattering everything that had once been constant in her life?

Maybe. Maybe not. As she watched from a nearby building, crouched in a catlike position, she reflected on the question of bravery. She certainly didn't feel brave.

But perhaps that's what her Mother had meant. Perhaps bravery was carrying on, even when you felt your weakest.

Perhaps.


End file.
